


Centuries

by Ninja_Librarian



Series: Voltron Whump Week 2017 [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bullying, But the lovers part is right at the end for extra angst, Coran headcanoned backstory, Day 4: Torture, Friends to Lovers, Headcanons regarding Alteans, Lots of angst my friends lots of angst, M/M, Pre-Canon, Spoilers for Season 3, Voltron Whump Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 03:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11820273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninja_Librarian/pseuds/Ninja_Librarian
Summary: Some legends are toldSome turn to dust or to goldBut you will remember meRemember me for centuriesAnd just one mistakeIs all it will takeWe’ll go down in historyRemember me for centuriesDay 4: TortureCoran had never been able to shape-shift, and never would be able to. Prince Alfor is well aware that his friend's worth lies in his other abilities. It was a pity that very few others saw that worth.





	Centuries

“Tonight,” Alfor declared dramatically as he took his seat beside Coran at their unit’s table, putting down his tray with more force than necessary. “Is going to be the worst…”

Coran paused in bringing a spork-ful of green goo to his mouth. “You like attending your mother’s banquets, and you especially like talking with Ambassador Smorlf.” Coran pointed out.

“That is true, but I will be the only one there still deemed a ‘child’.” Alfor said irritably as he poked at his own plate of goo. “I wish Mother would let you attend. If I have to, so should you. It has always been that way. Why end a perfectly good system now?”

“Because we are older. And because you are the Crown Prince.” Coran pointed out. “I am not. I am a mere, lowly cadet of no importance.”

“And we have always attended these functions together.” Alfor grumbled. “I think we are finally getting punishment for blowing up that punchbowl when we were fifteen.”

“I happen to recall a month without dessert, and that was over two decades ago.” Coran said. “I believe the statute of limitations has run out on that.”

“Still.” Alfor said with a sigh. “Besides, Mother insists that that was too soft of a punishment for us.”

“Frankly, I find Mum’s glare a harsh enough punishment. Perhaps Commander Neelason needs to bring her in whenever a unit fails inspection and have her give the same glare she used to give us when our rooms were a mess.” Coran said. He almost immediately after winced as the corner of a tray hit him on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Alfor said defensively, scowling at the back of their unit member who continued to walk on without acknowledging either of them.

“Leave it, Alfor,” Coran said, already resuming his meal.

“Coran,” Alfor groaned.

“It fixes nothing.” Coran said. “This is something I have to go about diplomatically, not you.”

Alfor frowned, but put his food in his mouth.

Since the boys were infants, Alfor and Coran had been inseparable and raised together in what remained of the Crystal Palace and the Castle of the Lions, on the decree of Queen Allea, Alfor’s mother. Coran’s mother, Araya, had been the Queen’s closest friend and lady-in-waiting, and then nurse and governess for the boys in their childhood. The arrangement was still heavily gossiped about, even as the boys nearly reached adulthood.

Araya entered the Crystal Palace as a child with her father, Hieronymus, when he was contracted to construct the Castle of the Lions, a large spaceship that would replace the Crystal Palace as headquarters for the reigning monarch and allow for easier diplomatic traveling. Hieronymus almost turned down the position, because he had his concerns about leaving his daughter to be raised by family members while he worked under the King’s orders, especially as his wife had died shortly after Araya’s birth. As a compromise, the King allowed both father and daughter to live in the Palace and young Araya was to receive the same education as Princess Allea. The two girls—one a princess, the other of common blood—became fast friends and retained a strong friendship into adulthood.

However, shortly after Allea’s marriage and following her announcement of being pregnant with the heir to the Altean throne, Araya approached the young Queen to discuss resigning her position, knowing that there would be backlash if the Queen should have an unwed pregnant lady-in-waiting. However, Queen Allea refused to accept the resignation and proposed her plan to raise their children together as they had been raised together as girls.

“If anyone has a problem with this plan, they shall take it up with me.” Queen Allea declared. Unsurprisingly, no one did. However, that did not stop the gossip from abounding about the paternity of Araya’s son. Some whispered that the King Consort was the father, others were certain that it was Allea’s elderly father. And still more insisted that it was some member of the nobility who had a small dalliance with the lady-in-waiting. Araya’s refusal to tell anyone other than her own father and Allea was very damning but also sharpened the teeth of the gossipers. Her position as nurse and governess would end up being her protection, staying with the children and out of sight.

The rumors had died down, especially when it was revealed that Coran did not have the ability to shape-shift—a skill only those with noble blood had—but the rumors started up again when Alfor reached the age in which heirs to the throne enlisted in the military academy. Naturally, Coran followed. Unnaturally, however, Queen Allea broke protocol: Coran was to be assigned to the unit that was designated for those of noble blood.

Needless to say, the other members of this unit were not pleased. Nor were the unit leaders.

Since then, Coran had relentlessly been bullied and hazed, from both his unit and other units once they found a target already being attacked. Coran never reacted and pretended that he was not bothered. It was Alfor who got defensive and protective, the one who told instructors but also the one who had to be dragged out of a fight. He stuck to his friend’s side like a mortinalick on a notwahl, which discouraged many of the tormenters from attacking, as they did not want to directly get the Crown Prince involved in the crossfire.

The Crown Prince, however, couldn’t care less.

It was one of the reasons Alfor was reluctant to leave.

Coran looked up at Alfor, frowned, and said, “It’s one night, Alfor. I’ll be fine for one night. I don’t need you constantly looking over my shoulder. Remember, you can’t protect me when you’re here on Altea and I’m off on a battleship going from system to system.”

“Of course I can.” Alfor protested weakly.

But he conceded.

He regretted it.

*

Coran was in the middle of shelving his books in the library. 

It was getting late, late enough that it was almost lights out. That was his intention, to slip in right before the lights in the barracks went out.

The last book was put away, and he was heading for the library door when a hand grabbed him by the arm, crashing him into the bookshelf.

Before Coran could react, the lights went out. But not before he saw several familiar faces; older boys from his unit, all big and intimidating and untouchable.

“You’re up late, Coran,” The ringleader said. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

“I believe in a little thing called studying,” Coran said, trying to muster up his usual gusto. Usually he could just outwit the bullies and be done with it. “Have you heard of it? Obviously not or you’d be doing better in aeronautical evasive tactics class.”

The older student laughed. “You think you’re so clever, so much better than the rest of us, don’t you? But the truth is you have never known your proper place until you got here. And we’re more than happy to remind you of your place. Consider it our noble way of helping the lowly imposter.”

“This is what you consider noble?” Coran said, hand behind him, trying to get his hands on the largest book he could find, anything he could use as a weapon. “Cornering a younger student in a dark room? Forgive me if I am surprised that you believe I am the imposter in this situation.”

His hand was almost on the book, but then he suddenly had his arm grabbed, yanked high above his head so that he had to get on his toes so as to not dislocate his shoulder. He was completely unprepared for the fist to the stomach.

He crumpled to the ground, out of air, wincing as he looked up. Was it his imagination or had the bullies all gotten much larger than usual?

His blood ran cold as a boot collided with his back.

It wasn’t his imagination. They had shape-shifted.

“You want to belong here?” The ringleader demanded. “Prove it. Haul him up.”

Coran was roughly dragged to his feet, arms pinned behind him no matter how hard he struggled. He felt claws sinking into the skin of his arms.

There was a hand around his throat. He could see glinting fangs in the dark.

“Shift, and we’ll stop.”

A foot smashed down on his; the one holding his arms prevented him from falling to the ground in a heap.

A slap to the face with something that was not organic-matter, that tore the skin on his cheek and stung.

His hair was roughly grabbed.

His knee was kicked and this time he was dropped, a boot coming down hard on his ankle, a crunch echoing through the silent, dark library as the bone broke.

He tried so hard to fight back, throwing punches and kicking as they continued to attack.

His clothes were torn. Someone sat on his back while another pinned his arm down as the ringleader made cuts in a pattern he was familiar with. It was the shape of each noble house crests, each one filled with something to represent that family.

But empty… An empty crest represented the lower classes.

“Shift, and tell us what your crest should be,” The ringleader said. “Come on, prove you’re worth something.”

The slaps and punches and kicking and scratching and yanking and cutting continued for what felt like hours, every injury preceded with and followed by an order to shape-shift, an order he could not and never could comply with.

But he did not cry out once. He spat out blood from where he had bitten his tongue, but he did not cry out in pain once. He took pride in that as he lay in a pool of his own blood, every bit of him aching, eyes sliding shut as the older boys left him in disgust.

And as he drifted out of consciousness, he vowed that they would one day regret this night.

And he vowed that he would never be that weak again.

He couldn’t be that weak again.

Because who else would look out for Alfor?

*

Alfor ran full-speed into the infirmary, panting, eyes wide as he looked around frantically. He sucked in a breath at catching a glimpse of ginger hair and ran towards it.

“Coran!” He said, evidently louder than he had intended because the nurse looked over and shushed him because he whispered, “Coran!”

To his relief, he saw that his friend was awake. Glassy eyed and covered practically head to toe in bandages, his ankle propped on a pillow, but awake. Alfor surged forward, gently grasping his friend’s hand, gulping.

This was his fault. He shouldn’t have left the night before, should have fought harder for Coran to have come with him…

“Coran, how are you feeling?” Alfor asked, wishing that years of diplomacy training had given him a better idea of how to approach his healing friend.

To Alfor’s surprise, Coran’s hazy gaze turned to him, grim and scowling. Alfor felt his heart in his throat, almost afraid to know what was going through his friend’s mind.

And then, Coran bent his head forward and said, “Forgive me, Prince Alfor, for failing you. It will not happen again.”

“What? You didn’t fail me,” Alfor said, confused. “What are you talking about, Coran?”

Coran didn’t answer, only turned his head away.

Alfor remained kneeling on the floor, stunned. He swallowed, then said, “Coran, who did this to you? We need to have them dealt with. This cannot continue!”

Coran merely shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“Weblum flatulence,” Alfor said, frowning. “You have a photographic memory.”

Though now he was starting to worry; how much head trauma had Coran sustained?

“I do not remember.” Coran said flatly, still not looking at Alfor.

This time, though, he understood.

Coran did know the name and rank and family of each person who had tortured him.

And he was refusing to say.

Alfor stood up, trembling. He felt a shiver run through him that had nothing to do with the germ-resistant low temperatures of the infirmary.

“Coran, just… Just rest. I will be back shortly.” He said. He glanced over his shoulder as he left the room, but Coran gave no indication that he heard or noticed Alfor’s departure. Alfor frowned, and left the infirmary with a heavy heart.

He had to fix this.

*

Alfor burst into the throne room unannounced.

“Mother, I need to speak with you,” he said. Queen Allea looked up from where she was looking at some data being presented, setting it aside.

“Of course,” Queen Allea said, straightening, clasping her hands in front of her. “Speak, Prince Alfor.”

“In private,” Alfor added, side-eyeing the advisors and consultants. Queen Allea nodded, which sent them all scurrying. Once the door was closed again, Alfor spoke, “Mother, you need to order Coran to another unit.”

“I need to?” Queen Allea said, arching an eyebrow. “I do not understand, I have no need for Coran to be moved to another unit. Unless it’s in this report somewhere that I have overlooked.” She held up a holopad for emphasis.

Alfor huffed slightly. He hated when his mother did this. “I need you to move Coran to another unit,” he said. He then explained what he had come back to that morning: an abundance of gossip and rumors, seeing his best friend lay so broken in the bed in the infirmary, his entire conversation with Coran. He finished with, “And that is why I need you to order Coran into another unit. Because maybe everyone will stop trying to harm him.”

His mother appeared contemplative for a moment.

Then she smiled at her only son as she said: “No.”

Alfor felt fury bubble up in him. “Why not?” he demanded.

Queen Allea stepped towards him, putting her hands on Alfor’s shoulders, gently pressing a kiss to his forehead. “My son, please understand, I am not being cruel. I am just as upset about these events as you are. But I am doing this for the best of everyone. For Coran, for you, and for all of Altea.”

“All of… I don’t understand.” Alfor said. Queen Allea patted his shoulder, then started to pace the room, talking as she moved gracefully around with the sound of her skirts swishing as accompaniment.

“As I grew up and came closer and closer to the crown, I began to doubt the faith, loyalty, and honesty of those who—from birth—had been raised to aide me. To befriend me. To sway me. My entire childhood—my entire reign—I have had one person whom I could always count on. It is not irony that Araya was born without noble blood. When we learned that she and I would both have a child around the same time, I knew it was fate and time to make changes to our current system.

“Prince Alfor, imagine for a moment that you are the King of Altea. Who do you trust to be on your Council? If you could pick anyone in all of the Altean Empire, regardless of birth, who is your first choice to have at your side?”

Alfor did not need a second to think to answer that question. “Coran, obviously.”

“And why would you choose him?” Queen Allea asked, tilting her head. “And do not say that it is because of your friendship or being raised together. Allies are important, as is friendship, but being allies does not necessarily mean friendship. And even your friends can be your enemy. So why do you choose Coran?”

This time, Alfor thought. “Coran is loyal to the Crown and Altea. And to me. He looks out for the interests of others. He is good at finding creative solutions to problems. He enjoys interacting with people and learning everything that he can about everything. And…” Alfor hesitated, but he had to admit what he had realized months prior. “He typically looks out for himself last.”

Queen Allea nodded. “Coran will do anything you ask him, Alfor. And he trusts that you will never ask him to do anything that he does not agree with, or any situation that puts him or others in harms’ way. But, if you do, he will speak up and express his concerns to you. He knows you will listen to advice, but not necessarily heed it. Whereas the nobles swear loyalty to both the crown and their own family, Coran is purely loyal to you. I know that one day, when I am gone, Coran will serve you well at your side. 

“However, one of his biggest strengths is also his biggest weakness. He is not of noble blood. Thus despite his upbringing in the palace, his advice to you will not have ulterior motives or seek gains in order to make the elite even more so. But at the same time, he officially has no place in your future court. Coran has already proved to the both of us that he is perfectly fit for any role you give him once you are King. The only problem is, he now must prove his worth to the noble families, all of Altea, and himself.”

Alfor considered all this and nodded.

But more importantly, he understood his earlier conversation with Coran.

Coran had a perfect memory… But a reckless best friend.

Coran was stopping him from retaliating. Protecting him from doing something stupid.

Coran was loyal to the Crown and Alfor. And Alfor was just as loyal.

Coran looked out for himself last. And Alfor first.

*

“I brought you a gift,” Alfor said as he dropped a box into Coran’s lap. The redhead opened the box, peeking in before taking the lid off entirely, picking up one of the pink sweets dusted with gold.

“Sugared Juniberry drops.” Coran said observantly before putting the candy in his mouth, the gold sugar leaving a small dust trail in the air. “How did you know?”

“They’ve only been your favorite since as long as I can remember,” Alfor said, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed. He was quiet, then said, “I know why you wouldn’t say who did this earlier. But if you won’t tell me, then will you tell someone else?”

Coran shook his head, putting another sugared Juniberry drop in his mouth.

Alfor slumped slightly in his chair, staring at his lap.

“I don’t know what to do,” He admitted. “I don’t know how to help you, I just know that I want to help you.”

A bandaged hand was placed on his knee and Alfor looked up at Coran, who gave him a small smile. “You’re here. That helps. I’ll be fine. Not now, but someday. But there is one other thing you can do.”

“What’s that?”

Coran held the box out to Alfor. “Eat one of these and quit worrying about the things you can’t control.”

Alfor smiled. “That’s two things, but you said I can do one.”

He kept his hands in his lap, his fingers away from the candy, with a silent vow to never even touch the candy again.

*

Centuries later, so many things happened. Alfor was married and widowed, but not before a beautiful little princess was born. Voltron began. Their friendship evolved into something more.

And everything was falling apart.

Coran watched helplessly as the glass solidified over Princess Allura’s sleeping face, Alfor’s back to him.

“Alfor… What are we going to do?” Coran asked. “We have to do something. Allura is right, we have to stop Zarkon.”

“We can.” Alfor said, turning to his advisor, oldest friend, lover, one of the most dearest persons in his life. “And I will. I have ordered the Lions of Voltron to be scattered. There is only one remaining here, the Black Lion. You and Allura must hide the Lion. Take the Castle and flee.”

“And what will you do?” Coran asked, feeling a clawed hand wrap around his heart. He knew that look on Alfor’s face. By the Ancients, it had never meant anything good.

Alfor stood straighter. “I will face Zarkon personally.”

The invisible hand tightened its grip.

“You’ll never survive. Whatever killed Zarkon—whatever is still allowing him to live… Alfor, you don’t know what it is. You can’t fight your way out of this.” Coran said.

“I don’t need to.” Alfor said. “What I need to do is buy more time. For you and Allura.”

Alfor reached into his pocket and pulled out something. He beckoned Coran closer, and Coran obliged. He had never seen Alfor in such a state. Alfor showed him a small square tin, which he opened.

Lying inside was a single sugared Juniberry drop, the gold sugar dust spread out around the pink candy. A candy that Alfor had never touched since that night when they were cadets.

Coran looked up, eyes wide, meeting Alfor’s intense gaze. “Alfor, what are you trying to say?”

Not dropping Coran’s gaze, Alfor plucked up the candy and said, “You told me to either eat one of these or stop worrying about the things I cannot control. I cannot control this anymore. I cannot stop worrying. But with this Juniberry drop, I can worry… But I can also trust. I trust you more than anyone else in the universe, Coran. I only ask that you continue to look after Allura. She will need your guidance. I trust the two of you to make things right, even if I cannot.”

No. No, no, no…

Before Coran could stop him, Alfor put the sweet in his mouth, gold dust on his lips.

“Alfor… Oh, Alfor, what have you done?” Coran whispered, horrified and heart-broken.

“Only what needs to happen,” Alfor said, gently cupping Coran’s cheek.

The kiss was hesitant at first, then desperate. It was sad. It was final. Coran closed his eyes, heart pounding and breaking simultaneously.

Alfor’s fingers came to the side of Coran’s neck caressingly. Coran leaned into the touch.

The next thing Coran knew, he was opening his eyes.

The room was full of strange creatures—and an awake Princess—and the room was musty and covered in dust. He leapt into action despite the aches of old injuries, the ones from that fateful night hurting the worst, the deepest.

A reminder.

The first word out of his mouth was a bitter curse. But on his tongue still lingered the sweetness of gold sugar and Juniberries, a quickly fleeting reminder of that last kiss.

While he slept for centuries, history was made.


End file.
